Joyous Garde
by Momerath
Summary: Sequel to Broceliade although you don't have to have read that . Post S2 familiarity would be ideal. Arthur's after Mordred and Morgana, Lancelot's after a knighthood, they're both after Gwen, and the Saxons are after everyone.
1. Chapter 1

**Joyous Garde **

**Chapter One **

**A/N: ** Thank you so much for your kind reviews about Broceliande, my first ever fanfic – I was really nervous so I'm very grateful for everyone being gentle, it's really encouraged me! I had actually written this before I posted Broceliande, but wasn't brave enough to put it up (I was sick all Christmas so had nothing to do but lie in bed watching DVDs and discovering the weird and wonderful world of fanfic).

Sequel to Broceliande, set after The Last Dragonlord. Only very mildly spoilery for S2. It also keeps the same backstory for Leon as in Broceliande, because, dammit, I'm not giving up until we have a body.

The BBC owns characters and I make no profit. Cruel world, but c'est la vie. Thank you again for the encouragement.

* * *

"This is really serious," said Arthur.

"Yes," agreed Merlin.

"I mean, _really serious_."

"Yes."

"Aren't you worried?"

"YES. What do you want me to do, cry?"

Arthur looked like he was considering it for a moment, before muttering "I don't think that would help," and going back to staring out his chambers windows. Merlin sat in Arthur's chair, feet on Arthur's table. Normally neither of those things would have been permitted. This wasn't normally. Arthur turned on his heel sharply. "Can't you call the Dragon back?"

Merlin was astonished. "What? Why?!"

"Why? _Why_? He told you Mordred was going to kill me and you're asking me why we need to call him back?! We need to ask how! Where! When!" Arthur punctuated each statement by thumping on the table violently, making Merlin's sore legs shudder from the vibrations.

Merlin groaned, his head was still aching and his body battered from his experience at Broceliande. He leaned back against the tall back of the chair. "Can you turn it down a notch, Arthur? We aren't calling the Dragon back. He doesn't know where or when, only _possibly _where and when, and that's all probably changed because I told you, and look, all this Destiny stuff is really vague and..."

"You're telling me!" Arthur was bright red now, working himself into what Merlin's mother would have called a tizzy. "You're telling me it's vague! I've got a Dragon saying a little boy is going to kill me at some point in the future, a sword saying I've got to cast it off eventually, a Lady of the Lake saying that the time is far off, and a servant who's actually a sorcerer who knows all of this because he let the brat go in the first place!"

Ah. Arthur went and sat by the window, staring out, chin in hand. Merlin didn't say anything for a moment. Eventually he swung his legs down with a slight wince, leaned forwards despite the back pain, and said with every ounce of sincerity in his body: "Arthur, I am sorry. I really am." Arthur didn't look around, but stared down into the courtyard, as though he didn't hear him. His silence scared Merlin more than his anger. "Arthur?" Nothing. A small coldness around his heart made Merlin wonder if he had betrayed one trust too many. "Arthur? Are you angry?"

Arthur blinked and turned around. Merlin was struck by the expression of real sadness on his face, one of the few times sadness in Arthur hadn't been masked by something more fiery – anger, or hurt, or grief. "No," he said, more gently than usual, but with his familiar decisive tone. "No, Merlin, I'm not angry. How can I be angry? I would have done the same thing as you. In fact, if I had known I would have done the same as I did. I would, of course, have gathered more firm intelligence first, but I couldn't stand by at the time and let the boy die in the flames and I couldn't have even now. In a fair fight, my men against his, yes. But in _that_ way, then, I couldn't have stood by, even if I knew."

"I know you couldn't." Merlin couldn't keep the pride out of his voice.

Arthur looked at him sharply. "That isn't a good thing, Merlin. You're talking about bringing down Camelot, not to mention me. I should be...stronger."

"Stronger doesn't mean violence always."

"All right, sage," he tossed Merlin's discarded jacket at him. "I just saw Gaius get back from collecting supplies. Get yourself to Gaius and Gwen, would you? You look a complete state, Gaius will beat Mordred to it and kill me himself if sees you looking like that."

"Gwen?" Merlin tried to ask, lightly. He hadn't dared ask about progress on that front.

Arthur didn't meet his eyes, walking over to the table and looking at some documents, but said carelessly, "yes, I got her a job with Gaius, didn't I tell you? She spent the time after Morgana left just sort of helping out here and there. I thought she would make a good physician's assistant, since he last one had been rubbish, not to mention never there, and at that point possibly dead. My father took some persuading, but after all, there are plenty of very capable women working around the castle."

"That was...nice of you," said Merlin, heading to the door, unable to get the grin off his face. "And is Gwen enjoying it?"

Arthur shrugged carelessly, but there was the faintest tinge of pink around his cheekbones. Merlin hovered, hoping for more, until Arthur sat down, looked at some parchments, and said without looking up: "get out before I throw you out."

It was good to be home.

"I only told him about Mordred," said Merlin. He could tell Gaius was cross. He was beginning to wish he hadn't said anything. He'd been quite enjoying the hero's welcome. But the next morning, and all the questions had started. How did Arthur set him free, exactly? Who had taken him? How? "I didn't tell him about the once and future king stuff, or the uniting Albion stuff. In fact, _I _didn't even tell him about Mordred. Fr –the Lady of the Lake did. And don't you think it's better he knows?"

"Better for you, maybe," admitted Gaius, but that thought was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Arthur. As befitting a prince, he didn't bother to knock, but judging from Gaius' reaction his presence wasn't as completely unusual as it had been before Merlin's capture and before Gwen's tenure as physician's assistant. "Good morning, sire. How are your wounds?"

"No wounds, Gaius," said Arthur, energetically. He prowled up and down the jars on the shelves, reading each label with unlikely interest. Gaius, who hadn't been told about the scabbard, eyed Merlin suspiciously. "How're you Merlin?"

"Less sore. How're you?"

"Less alarmed." He turned to Merlin and clapped his hands together. "I have good news. Well, terrible news, but good news for us."

"Oh?"

"The Saxons are attacking Northumbria again."

"_Again_?" exclaimed Gaius. "They only just left! That's dreadful! What else is there to take?"

"Yes, again. Yes, awful. But we're going to help."

"We are?" asked Merlin.

"We are."

"We're going to go and fight the Saxons," repeated Merlin, trying the phrase out for size. "What, alone?"

Arthur, who had temporarily been completely distracted by Gwen's entrance, said "Yes. What? No! Don't be stupid. Hello, Gwen. How are you this morning?"

Gwen smiled at him beatifically and said coyly "very well, thank you, Arthur. All the better for having Merlin home again."

"I do my best," grinned Arthur.

At this point Merlin dragged himself to his feet and positioned himself in front of Gwen so Arthur was looking at him by default. "Ex_cuse me_," he said, "_not _wishing to interrupt, but I think you did just say we were going to fight the Saxons, so it's _not_ a stupid question."

Snapping out of it, Arthur took his elbow and led him back to the chair. "You should sit down, you need your rest. Yes, we are going to fight the Saxons, but when I say 'we' I don't mean just 'you and I', I mean 'we' as in the knights of Camelot."

"I'm not a knight of Camelot," growled Merlin, as Arthur's eyes had wandered back to where Gwen was not-at-all self-consciously arranging roses. "Oh for the love of..."

"I never said you were a knight of Camelot," said Arthur, vaguely.

"Arthur, do you mind looking at me for a moment? Just one second. Please? Hi. You said this was good news for us. Fighting Saxons isn't good news. That's bad news."

Gwen stopped humming and began listening to the conversation rather than concentrating on what she was doing when Arthur was looking at her. "You're going to fight the Saxons?" she repeated, looking alarmed.

"Yes," Arthur smiled idiotically at her. "But it _is_ good news – " he pointed at Merlin – "you are absolutely right, because we know where Mordred is."

"The druid boy?!" exclaimed Gwen, completely baffled now.

"How?" demanded Merlin.

"Not just a pretty face, my friend. Well, actually it wasn't me, if I'm being honest. Leon has contacts in Northumbria. We've known for a long time that there was a bunch of renegade druids holed up in a ruined castle in Northumbria, around Dunbar, and last night I was going over all our reports and lo and behold, they mentioned a creepy child with blue eyes going by the name Merdraut. I think that's probably just their accents getting it wrong. Or maybe _we _got it wrong. But a creepy child with blue eyes with a name like that _has _to be our man."

"So we're _not_ going to fight the Saxons."

"Well, we might have to. My father's getting hot under the collar, because this is about the fifth time in a year the Saxons have landed – three times in Northumbria and once in Gododdin – so he wants me to go and offer Camelot's help. So, yes, potentially, we are going to fight the Saxons. They'll probably be gone by then, it'll be more consolation and diplomatic stuff. But mostly we are going to find Mordred." He slapped Merlin's shoulder and went to leave. As he did so, he took a rose stem subtly offered by Gwen, brushing her hand. "I'll see you soon," he said, so quietly only she could hear.

"Get ready, Merlin," he said, leaving.

"_Now_?!"

Arthur turned back at the door, playing with the rose between his fingers. "Yes, _now_. The Saxons aren't going to wait for you! Good grief!"

He left, Merlin groaned and Gwen looked down at the rose, a shadow across her face.

Arthur walked across the courtyard in the summer sun, humming to himself. The scent from the rose in his hand seemed strong as any perfume, and intoxicated him with a joy in everything he saw, from the towering castle to the lowliest carter.

The good mood evaporated with a suddenness which was upsetting. Standing at the main gate, talking to a guard, was Lancelot. Their eyes met. The hum died on Arthur's lips and he realised he had torn the rose's petals. He let it drop, wiped his fingers on his tunic, and walked over the guard.

"This man says he has business with you, Sire," said the guard.

"Thank you – yes, that's fine," Arthur eventually met Lancelot's gaze fully. "Lancelot. How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you, Sire," Lancelot answered, as usual his tone overflowing with warmth and eagerness, something Arthur had once found utterly charming and now found utterly threatening. But that wasn't Lancelot's fault, he reminded himself.

"You didn't say goodbye last time," said Arthur, immediately kicking himself. Why bring up last time? Lancelot was obviously wondering the same thing, and had the good grace not to answer, but instead look faintly embarrassed on Arthur's behalf. "So what brings you back?" Arthur used everything he possessed to try and bring lightness and banter to the conversation.

Lancelot looked on safer ground here and, as always, enthusiastic. "Sire, there are Saxons in the north."

"Yeah, I know," Arthur was looking back from where he had just come. Did that window look over this part of the courtyard? He finally turned back. "You're not _actually_ from Northumbria, are you?"

"No. But I hear you're riding to war."

Arthur blinked, and screwed up his nose. "How could you _possibly _know..."

"I've ridden from Bayard's court. He's as worried as Uther. He's planning on helping, too. He asked me to ride with them. But I...I wanted to ride with you," he stared at Arthur, wide brown eyes imploring. Arthur had seen less irresistible eyes on puppies. 'Did you, though?' he wondered. 'Or did you want to see Gwen?'

The thought was beneath him. "Lancelot, you know the tricky situation here with the knighthood and everything..."

"Yes, Sire," Lancelot looked dejected. "I just had hoped..."

"All right, look," interrupted Arthur. "Officially, I guess you're still a knight. Well, I'm not sure that's true, actually, because didn't my father strip you of your knighthood? Oh, whatever. Look, you've saved me, and Camelot and...some of Camelot's citizens, and as far as I'm concerned, that's good enough for me," he was talking almost at random now. "Just wait outside the castle walls. We ride at dusk. Join in. You're Sir Lancelot. If anyone asks...if anyone asks, just think of something. Okay?"

Lancelot's smile was so wide and pure and innocently joyful that Arthur felt craven and bitter for the unjust dislike, bordering on hatred, he felt for him, all based on an unworthy jealousy. "Thank you, Sire. Thank you."

He made to leave. Arthur watched him for all of ten seconds, and then knew he couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear the jealousy he would experience, or the torment, if he did it, but he couldn't bear the guilt and shame if he didn't. "Lancelot," he reached out and stopped him, and the words came out so quickly, as though he hoped by not really thinking about them they wouldn't be made vocal. "Lancelot, forget it. Go and see Gaius. Stay in Gaius' rooms. At dusk join us outside. Okay?"

He walked away ignoring Lancelot's thanks, and made it to his room before the unfamiliar sensation of bitterest tears stung his eyes. He blinked them away hard, and tried to concentrate on Saxons and druids, and not on whatever was being said in Gaius' rooms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Joyous Garde **

**Chapter Two **

The ride to Northumbria was deeply uncomfortable. From the moment Lancelot turned up in Gaius' rooms, Merlin had known it would be. He had tried talking to Arthur about it at first, to say he had loyally never left them alone, to say that Gwen hadn't blushed quite as much around Lancelot as she did around Arthur. But Arthur refused to talk.

"So, about Lancelot," wittered Merlin, trying to goad him to conversation. "Quite random him turning up. I was surprised. He came to stay in Gaius' room, said you told him to. It was good of you to let him come along, Arthur, he really wants –"

"Tell me –" began Arthur.

"Yes?" asked Merlin, hopefully.

"Nothing. Don't tell me anything."

"Are you sure?"

"Shut up, Merlin."

Their arrival to Northumbria was no less uncomfortable. Even the seasoned knights of Camelot drew up their horses in astonishment. Everywhere was ruinous. Fields were nothing but mud, boats burned in the sea and houses' ruins smoked. It was fairly safe to say they were too late for the Saxons. Merlin watched Arthur pick over the remains, discussing with the nobles and councillors about the Saxon modus operandi, resistance options, possible first warning systems and generally looking more troubled than Merlin had seen him before.

Lancelot came to sit next to him on a ruined wall which until a few days previously had been a family home. They both watched Arthur. Finally, Lancelot said "you and I are not as good friends anymore, are we?"

Merlin didn't respond. What could he say? Lancelot had done nothing to offend him, or even really Arthur, but he caused Arthur pain, and consequently even now he was wishing Lancelot wasn't next to him.

"These Saxon attacks are getting worse," Lancelot remarked.

"Yes."

"They'll come to Camelot soon."

"Yes, probably."

"Does he know yet? About your magic?"

"Yes."

More silence. "We're not really here to fight Saxons, are we? Surely he knew they'd probably be gone by the time we got here?"

"No."

"What are we doing?"

"Lancelot." Merlin got up. "Lancelot, I really like you. You know that. You are a good, honest and decent man. But I can't tell you anything until Arthur tells you. And you must never tell him you knew about the magic first. I have tested his loyalty to me so far, I can't test it any further. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Lancelot, as Merlin walked away. "It isn't my fault," he added, to thin air.

"Right," Arthur came up to his knights, who were all looking like men who had seen their future, and it looked bleak. He put back his shoulders and put on his most energising expression. "Don't look like that, people. Northumbria has fight in her yet, and we are going to help her. Listen, I have a little minor detour to make. I'm taking Leon, Kay, Tristan and...well, I suppose...yeah, alright, you too Lancelot. And obviously Merlin. Everyone else head back to Camelot. I'll be a couple of days behind you at most."

Leon just looked at his prince for a moment. "Sire..."

"Leon?"

"Um. Really? There could still be Saxons about here...are you sure we should separate? I assumed the rest of the knights would be coming with us."

"Quite sure, Leon, and the sooner we do it, the sooner we do it the sooner we will catch them up. Come along, you lot. I'm sure you're up to it."

The knights, Lancelot and Merlin straggled after him. He led the way from the destruction of the coast, inland, under sheer mountains, deep valleys and clean mountain air. The further they went, the more conscious Merlin was that it was Arthur doing the map-reading. They hadn't seen a pathway –even the roughest of pathways – for hours, and were just following cold, thin mountain streams under looming trees. The horses struggled, and were tired.

"Arthur – "

"We're nearly there."

"Are you sure about that?" Merlin looked around. "This doesn't look habitable."

"Very sure. This is the north, Merlin. They're sturdy up here."

"Yeah, but they're not _goats_." Merlin's horse stumbled again as Arthur purposefully steered his across yet another young, tumbling stream to a steep bank opposite, up which it struggled bravely but with great difficulty.

"Added to which," he said, when he finally caught Arthur up, "added to which I can't....well...I can't _hear _him."

"Who?"

"Mordred." Merlin sort of tapped his ears, as though to check they were still working.

Arthur gazed at him, fondly but as though he were looking at a slightly charming child. "Merlin, I'm not saying we're in _earshot_ of it."

Merlin narrowed his eyes. "No, you're not understanding me. I can hear him. In my head. When he's around. And I can't. Which means he isn't. He calls me Emrys," he added, not because that was important but because it was a defining feature of their conversation.

Arthur was staring at Merlin, and where he hadn't been angry before, he was well and truly angry now. "You can _hear him in your head_?"

"Ye-es."

"So can he hear you in his?"

Merlin stopped mid-thought. "We-ell. Er. What?"

"_Why are you here?"_ Arthur's restrained anger and frustration, at Mordred's escape, Gwen, Lancelot and the Saxons, suddenly found full flood here. Leon, who had managed to catch up with Merlin, gaped at the outpouring of rage. "_Why are you here? _You're the _enemy_!"

Leon dragged his horse's head around and stumbled down the stream to intercept the others. This was not an argument for others to hear, whatever it was about.

"Arthur!" Merlin attempted to stop the flow.

"_No. No. _Le – where did Leon go? You – _you _need to be taken away and tied up!"

"_What_? Arthur, you can't think I'm on his side!"

"It doesn't matter whose side you're on! If he can hear your thoughts you're only on his side!"

"Arthur, you need to calm down. Listen to me. This is the way of magic. Do you really think you and four knights can creep up on a bunch of druids unawares? It doesn't matter if he can hear my thoughts. I can hear his. We have the same advantage. I don't even know what you're planning on doing here, if I'm honest. I mean, I'm strong, but I'm not confident about taking a whole group on. At least, not really. Mordred can do a shouting thing which works on groups, but I'm not sure I know how."

"Morgana talked about a fair fight. There is no fair fight. She said herself, we don't have any magical friends. I want to take Mordred on. He isn't going to destroy Camelot."

"Or you," agreed Merlin, loudly.

Arthur looked at him, steadily. "If I die now, my father is still alive. He can still marry again, and have another son. There are plenty of loyal councillors who would look after the boy's education and upbringing if the worst happens. Mordred can destroy me without destroying Camelot. Can't you see – if his fate is to kill me, Merlin, it is better he does it sooner rather than later."

Merlin had known Arthur for almost four years by that point, and he had never been more staggered at anything he had heard in his life. "You – " the air seemed to have vanished from his lungs. "You aren't serious. This is a _suicide mission_?"

"No. This is a fact-finding mission. The fact we have to find is whether I'm going to kill Mordred or he's going to kill me. Where _are _the others? _LEON! _Oh, there they are. Onwards."

Merlin watched him go. He waited for Leon, who put his horse alongside Merlin's. Horses and men alike were sombre. "Is everything all right?" asked Leon.

"No," replied Merlin. They rode along for a while. "Arthur thinks he's going to die on this mission," he said finally. He knew Gaius would say that people shouldn't know too much about destinies, but Leon needed to know that.

Leon accepted this news without much of a reaction. "Yeah, but Arthur thinks a lot of stuff that isn't true, doesn't he?" he mused, looking straight ahead, casually. "He thinks that I don't have any idea he's in love with Gwen. He thinks people do what he says because they admire the rank he has, not the man he is. And above all," and here he took a deep breath. "Above all, he really thinks that his father is a better king than he will be."

"None of those things are true," agreed Merlin, also looking ahead.

"Nope," said Leon. "And it's not true he's going to die, either."


	3. Chapter 3

**Joyous Garde **

**Chapter Three **

* * *

"It's called Dolorous Garde," said Arthur.

"I can see why," muttered Lancelot.

The men were lying on their stomachs on overgrown wet grass, peering over the edge of a ditch. In front of them was a patch of brambly ground and a huge, completely ruinous castle. The fierce jagged masonry stuck up into the heavy grey stone aggressively, and the empty windows gazed blankly out at them. It felt completely dead. It was, in fact, completely dead. There was no one there, druid or not. Arthur gnawed a fingernail thoughtfully. Abruptly he got to his feet, and drew Excalibur, gleaming in the rapidly falling dark.

The others followed him into the dank courtyard, dripping from recent rain, smelling of rotting vegetation and the promise of more rain, echoing to the sound of their feet. The castle rose up all around them empty, blank, roofed in by a murderously black sky. The instinct was to look up, and by doing so get negative vertigo. There were signs of recent occupation – fires in several of the rooms, food, branches of hawthorne ("protection," mused Leon, and only Merlin seemed to wonder how he knew), even some clothes. They had left in a hurry.

"Maybe they heard us coming," said Arthur, looking pointedly at Merlin. He ignored that dig. Arthur's reflex when he was discomforted was kicking Merlin, and there was no point arguing. "All right. This is a wasted journey. Let's set up a watch. You first, Kay. I'm going in there. We rejoin the others tomorrow. And keep an eye out, please. Any weird stuff. I don't know, walking trees, talking animals, whatever these druids do." He sheathed Excalibur and stalked into pretty much the only room whose walls afforded any privacy.

"What did he expect to find?" asked Leon, quietly. Lancelot was watching.

"Druids," said Merlin.

"Druids worth coming all this way for? We have druids in the woods just outside Camelot."

"Yes, druids worth coming all this way for." Merlin smiled emptily at them both, picked up his pack and followed Arthur.

"I don't remember inviting you," said Arthur. He was lying fully clothed on his bedding. He was still holding Excalibur. "I really thought they'd be here."

"You're underestimating him, Arthur. He's strong. He's more powerful than I, I think. And he's...he's evil."

"No one's evil."

"He wants to kill you."

"Lots of people do, haven't you noticed?"

Merlin sat next to him. Darkness had fallen. They could hear the knights talking outside. Inside was cold and damp. It was almost like the cave in Broceliande, if it wasn't so quiet. "Well, they're not going to."

"Not yet, apparently. Not even if I want them to."

"You don't mean that." He hated the fear in his voice, which betrayed the concern that he _did _mean that.

Arthur still stared upwards. "No, I don't," he said. But he didn't sound sure either. "I think that's what she meant about a fair fight. They want to destroy Camelot, not just me. It's bigger than me. It's not about a petty squabble. She could have killed me a hundred times over, at Broceliande, before then and after then. So could Mordred. Morgause definitely could have. But the Northumbrians were telling me they've been attacking them too. They said this last time they were sure the Saxons had a druid with them. Mercia has had druid bandits on their borders as well. It isn't just us. And we all have Saxons knocking on our doors..." he trailed off, but his eyes showed that his train of thought was continuing to its inevitable end. "There's trouble ahead, Merlin," he said, his voice deep with seriousness. "I thought my dying could help. I was willing to do it, if it would help. But it won't."

Merlin pulled more bedding over himself. The knights had stopped talking. Dolorous Garde was silent. No owls, no sound of bats, no night insects, just the faint drip of water. He was trembling, not just from the cold. "No, that won't help," he said.

"We need to think of something that will."

"Yes." Merlin couldn't even see the prince anymore in the dark. "We will think of something."

"I know."

They didn't say anymore.

The sleep came on Lancelot without him noticing. He had been cold, and damp, and stiff and generally very uncomfortable out in the courtyard, with three knights who couldn't quite work out if he was still a knight or not, but were too polite to ask him and too scared of Arthur's current unpredictability to check.

"Sir Lancelot. Sir Lancelot." The boy had the bluest eyes Lancelot had ever seen. They were ice blue, and wide. He didn't seem to blink. "You're home, Sir Lancelot."

"I've never been here before. Who are you?"

"You're home," the boy said again. He spoke without emotion, with utter serene confidence. He reached and took Lancelot's hand, walking him through the courtyard to a small doorway, and down some worn steps into a crypt. Water ran down the walls. In the centre of the crypt was a beautiful stone tomb, shining and without any moss or lichen or damp. Lancelot knew it was his. Beside it was another, of a beautiful woman, of Gwen. "Don't you think she'll be happy here?" said the boy. It was a question, but the tone was without doubt.

"It's a ruin," said Lancelot. "It isn't a home."

"You can make it a home," said the boy. "Don't you think she'll be happy here? When you bring her? You can make it a home. Think of the great deeds you can do here, to earn her love. You can help protect the Northumbria marches from Saxons and renegade druids. You can sit at Camelot among equals, among inferiors, even, you will be the greatest knight, the bravest, the most loyal, the most loved and the most admired. King Arthur himself will envy you your achievements. And you can bring her here when you have won her – scene of your greatest glories, and symbol of your honour's resurrection." As the boy spoke, Lancelot saw it all, felt it all, the striking of steel as he won through against Saxons and druids, the applause of his fellow knights in Camelot, the trophies around this castle. "Don't you think she'll be happy here?"

"Yes." Said Lancelot.

"Lancelot!" Leon kicked him, not unkindly, but firmly. "Lancelot, get up, mate. It was your watch about an hour ago."

The next morning, the promised rain had vanished. It was a cold but clear day, but the sunlight, despite its best efforts, could not pierce Dolorous Garde's doomy atmosphere, and faded away around the tops of its towers, leaving the courtyard and roofless rooms in gloom. In the castle, by looking up, the blue sky was visible. Five of the six men present stared at this blue sky as though it were water and they were dying of thirst. In all his campaigns and hunting trips, Arthur had never seen any knights pack faster than the team he had with him that day. He didn't blame them.

"Sire," Lancelot stopped him as they readied the horses at the brambly entrance to the castle. "Sire, I want to ask your permission for a plan."

Arthur took his arm away as casually as possible and said "yes?" indifferently.

"Sire, I want to beg leave to stay here. I can rebuild the castle, lend protection to the Northumbrians against the Saxons and the druids, create better relations with Camelot. I can...I can really earn my place at your side. I want," he continued, with so much keen earnestness that Arthur despaired, "I want so badly to win my place as an honoured knight of Camelot."

Arthur barely believed his ears. Lancelot _volunteering _to stay away, at least for the time being? Was this a dream? He was aware of both Merlin and Lancelot watching him closely, so tried his best to swallow his joy. "Lancelot," he said, "I think that is a wonderful idea. Really, I do. Although..." his honourable nature could stop it "although, you_ have _earned your place. But you know how we valuable our best men on the marches – Geraint down on the Cornish marches in particular is a great credit to Camelot, I know how highly the king regards him." He reached out, and took Lancelot's hand. "You're a good man, Sir Lancelot," he said. "And until I see you at Camelot, which will be soon, I hope, I wish you every happiness at...Dolorous Garde. You _are_ going to change the name, aren't you?"

Lancelot looked back at his new castle, the sun shining on his face. "Yes. I'm going to call it Joyous Garde."

Arthur threw back his head with a shout of laughter, and clapped Merlin on the back. "Good luck to you, my friend. Stay in frequent contact. I'll be sure my father knows your loyalty. All right, men. We have to catch up the others."

"Goodbye, Lancelot," said Merlin, a little vaguely. He was almost certain something strange had just happened, but had no idea what. Was he just getting too suspicious?

Lancelot watched the riders until the vanished back down into the steep valley, and then walked back into his castle. He went into the room where Arthur had stayed the night before, the only really habitable one as yet in the castle, and found himself humming. The visions he had seen the night before were still in front of his eyes. Such happiness ahead of him, in this place, and a peaceful death with the woman he loved. He reached into his tunic and took out a dried rose, and placed it on a remaining shelf.

Roses are all pretty much alike, it is true, especially after drying, but had Arthur seen it he would have known it was from the ones Gwen was arranging in Gaius's room. He wouldn't have been mistaken.


End file.
